The Collector
by RainaWrites
Summary: A visit with Lwaxana on Betazed (and a surprise visit from Will and Deanna!)
1. Digging In

**I thought it might be fun to write about Carmen's visit to Betazed. For those who aren't familiar with my character, she's the daughter of Deanna Troi and Commander Riker from a parallel, war-torn universe who crash landed in the prime universe. Hopefully this will be a good introduction to her if you haven't read any of my other stories. **

**This was originally going to be a one-shot, but as my husband pointed out, I am incapable of writing just one chapter. So there will be a handful of chapters, maybe somewhere around five. No cliff-hangers, and no big action scenes. Just a lovely visit with Grandma Lwaxana! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The mud feels nice beneath my bare feet. Water sloshes lazily at the shore of Lake Cataria, little waves rising up to lap at my toes. There is something about the sunshine and the way it warms my shoulders, something that the holodeck could never reproduce. The breeze smells like flowers, ones that I don't know the name of yet. I'm sure mom would know. She'd probably recite them to me in her counselor voice if I asked. And if she were here.

It'll be another week before I see her or my dad again. They're still on Earth, somewhere deep in the Alaskan wilderness for their honeymoon. I smile, thinking of them. Just a year ago it felt like a stab in the chest to think of my parents. And I know what it's like, to be stabbed in the chest. But now I can smile, because reminders of them feel as warm as the Betazed sun on my shoulders.

Something shiny catches my eye. It's a rock, smooth and round. I pluck it out of the mud and wipe it on the front of my shorts. One side is pink and the other is tan, with little white grains that sparkle like the surface of Lake Cataria. This is a keeper.

As I slip it into my pocket, I hear my nana say, "That's the fourth one today. You like rocks, don't you?"

I glance at her sideways. She has the same playful wrinkles around her mouth when she smiles as my mom does. Dad says we all have the same smile, being Daughters of the Fifth House. But there is something graceful, something delicate, about the other women of my family that eludes me.

"Yes," I answer, aware of the weight in my pocket. I like the weight. I like carrying these little pieces of Betazed around with me. "I have a whole collection back on the Enterprise, you know."

"Oh?" she says, even though she _does_ know. "Where did you get the other rocks?"

She knows the answer to that, too. She can pull words from my mind before they reach my tongue. But sometimes, I think she asks me questions just to _let _them reach my tongue. I remember how she told my dad once that too many thoughts die in my throat. That's how she talks, as if things that aren't things can live and die.

"Mostly Alaska," I say. "But Allan brought me some from different surveys he's conducted." How funny, I think, that he brings me rocks and I bring him flowers. Maybe in a few years we'll have enough to terraform our own planet using just our collections! I giggle aloud at my own joke.

Nana joins in, her laughter falling like rain in the Vakronian jungle, and for a moment I'm surprised. I'm still getting used to being around telepaths, people who can read your mind like an open book. There is so little space between thoughts and words. I have to be careful that my mind doesn't wander somewhere private.

It is difficult for me to read their minds, however. My abilities are even more diminished than my mother's. If I concentrate, I can read other people in the room. But if my mom concentrates, she can read the whole ship. She told me once that it's like a tapestry, with all the different strands woven together in a confluence of emotions. That's how she talks, with metaphors and big words.

"We'll work on that," nana says. I look over at her, unsure of what she means. She points to her temple. "Your ability to read."

I nod, but I'm not really sure if it's possible.

"Why wouldn't it be possible?" she asks, reading my mind again. "Because of all those years that you spent burying your Betazoid side, hoping it would die?"

I nod again, grateful that she didn't wait for the words to reach my tongue that time. They wouldn't have sounded the same. Not only did I bury my Betazoid side, but I built walls over the top of its grave. Sometimes I can still hear old Montgomery, that strict and humorless man charged with turning a bunch of children into soldiers. _"Empathy is a disservice to a warrior. One must wear armor on the battlefield." _

Nana takes my hand and together we walk towards a winding, wooden staircase. I feel grains of sand beneath my feet at every step. The staircase is built into the side of a hill, and at the very top of that hill I see a house. Nana's house.

It reminds me of Data's cat, the way he perches himself on the back of a chair with his paws tucked underneath. Her house is even the same color, a buttery orange. Big windows face the lake and I know that I will miss the warmth of those windows beneath my palms. On the Enterprise, all the windows feel cold.

Mr. Homn must be preparing lunch, because I can smell something delicious as we climb higher up the hill. My stomach growls and it makes nana laugh. "We've worked up an appetite, haven't we? I think we should take another walk like this tomorrow morning."

"Could we go for a walk after dinner, too?" I ask. More like plead. She laughs again.

"Oh alright. Now let's go inside, Bright Eyes."

* * *

The Enterprise is a very orderly place. Every deck and door is numbered. The colors are all neutral and pleasing, with a sparse array of furniture.

Nana's house is nothing like the Enterprise. Strange collections of things cover every surface. I see statues and masks and marbles and jars. Every wall is a different color, a different mood. There are rooms devoted to books and rooms devoted to clothes and one that's solely meant for storing hats. Despite the clutter, nana's house doesn't feel small. The ceilings are high and rounded, and each room has at least one window with a seat. Even the kitchen.

This is where I sit as Mr. Homn finishes making lunch. It has become my favorite place to sit, on this big red cushion in front of the window. Nana hums to herself as she adds a few bowls to the table. Her mind seems to take up the whole kitchen; it is so big, so loud. Not a bad kind of loud, like those streets in San Francisco with the clanging cars. Loud like Christmas, when everyone gathered in Ten Forward and sang strange songs. Loud like when my father would play his trombone as I was trying to do homework. I would grumble and complain, but it was one of those sounds that made home feel like home. Oh how much louder was the silence of his trombone sitting in the corner, gathering dust.

That is like nana's mind-noisy, but it sounds like home. She turns to me with a smile. "Ready?" she asks, and waves her hand towards a chair. Mr. Homn pulls one out for her and we sit down at the same time.

I dig in immediately. The food tastes so good that Mr. Homn is swinging away at his little gong like a lumberjack swinging his axe at a tree. The gong is meant to convey a guest's appreciation for the meal, and it's one of the strangest Betazoid traditions I've ever heard of. I guess sometimes, they turn the noise of their minds into actual noise.

I don't slow down until I've had four helpings. Food was always scarce during the war, especially on a Bird-of-Prey. I could never be sure where my next meal was going to come from. Or if it would be edible. Human teeth are dull and flat compared to a Klingon's, a difference that warranted a lot of teasing from my crewmates. I could barely even break the skin of a targ.

I lean back in my chair, savoring this feeling of a full belly while Mr. Homn dabs the sweat from his brow. Light streams in through the windows, splashing against the side of the table. I can hear birds calling as they fly over the lake, searching for a lunch of their own.

"Well let's get started," nana says.

"Started?" I echo.

"Yes, we have a lot of digging to do."

My face scrunches together in confusion. "What do you mean, digging?"

She leans forward, resting her chin on her hands. Her fingers curve elegantly up the sides of her face._ In here_, she says from somewhere in my mind. _We've brought down your walls. Now it's time to do some digging._


	2. Ghosts

It feels like nana has reached her hands into my mind. She is rummaging through my childhood, pulling out scenes and then tucking them back in. I see bits and pieces, loose ends that have gotten lost amidst a ravel of memories. There is my teacher, Mrs. Gleaves, and her eternal glower of disappointment._ "Really, Carmen_," _she says._ "_I expected better behavior from the daughter of a commander." _

_Dad is standing nearby. He is a full foot taller than Mrs. Gleaves, but he winces in the wake of her scowl. Dr. Crusher is holding a cloth under my broken nose to catch the blood. I see a glimmer of amusement in the corner of her mouth. "I don't know-I think Carmen is on par for being the daughter of __**this**__ commander," she quips. _

_Now dad is scowling, too. Dr. Crusher giggles to herself. Nobody can make her wince. "Was it Reynold Clancy again?" she asks me. _

"_Uhn," I say through the cloth, meaning yes. _

_She clicks her tongue. "You can't keep indulging him, Carmen. You know what my mother used to tell me?"_

_My eyes turn up in search of her face. I don't get to hear a mother's advice very often. "Uhn?"_

"_She would say, 'You don't have to attend every argument you're invited to, Beverly.' And that has saved me a lot of grief over the years."_

_I know she is right. But I also know that I am different from the other children. They only have to feel their own emotions. I have to feel __**everybody's**__. It's like being jostled by a crowd of people, a crowd of people who can't see me or talk to me. The only thing big enough to drown it all out is anger. So sometimes, especially when Reynold Clancy calls me stupid, I just let that anger fill me up inside until it comes out of my fists. _

_I want to tell her these things, but all I do is give her a small, defeated nod. Mrs. Gleaves returns to class, leaving me in dad's custody. I know I will get a long lecture over dinner. But once Dr. Crusher has fixed me up she tells him, "We've already talked about what Carmen did, so there's no need to bring it up again. Just take her home and make sure she finishes her schoolwork."_

_Dad folds his arms and makes a disgruntled snort. But he doesn't bring up Reynold Clancy for the rest of the night. That's because doctor's orders come before commander's orders._

I find myself back at nana's kitchen table. The afternoon sun is strong. It hangs over the lake like a golden ball, almost twice as big as Earth's sun. "Dr. Crusher...she was the closest thing you had to a mother, wasn't she?"

Nana's question takes me by surprise. But the more I think about it, the more it is true. Dr. Crusher had a way of knowing when to lecture and when to listen. She was fearless and clever and yet somehow, still soft.

"That's why it hurt when she left," nana says. "It's when you started to build your walls, remember?"

I inhale sharply. Now I do remember. The Enterprise never felt the same after she was gone. It lost a certain light, a certain warmth. I felt her absence as something tangible, like a piece of broken glass. I felt the way it made my father and the captain bleed when they were alone with their thoughts.

"It's a shame that Mrs. Gleaves was such a dreadful woman."

Shaking my head, I say, "No, _I_ was the dreadful one. And she...she was a hero."

I go back to those memories of my own accord, sifting through them as if my mind were an old box. I find the one I'm looking for and show it to her.

_Mrs. Gleaves is standing in the doorway of our classroom. Admiral Leyton stands across from her in the hall, and they face off like a couple of cowboys in the Old West. _

_There are only six of us left. Six orphans, cowering behind our desks. Months ago, Starfleet ordered all schooling programs to be halted until further notice. They need more soldiers, not scholars. But that didn't stop Mrs. Gleaves. She continued to carry out her daily lessons in an uncharacteristic display of defiance. _

_Now Leyton is here for his soldiers. The clock strikes high noon. Mrs. Gleaves fires off quickly, a vast and colorful vocabulary at her fingertips. She fashions her words into bullets, aiming them straight for his heart. Her passion fills me to the brim and I marvel at how Leyton can still be standing. _

_Then he smiles. Mrs. Gleaves is red-faced and shaking, fresh out of ammo. At the sight of her defeat, his smile grows bigger. It is empty and hollow, just like his chest. All along, she was firing at a heart that wasn't there._

I open my eyes, letting them wander the hillsides surrounding Lake Cataria. They are wooded with trees that remind me of Alaska. Mom and dad must have a similar view. I take comfort in the thought, for it means that I am no longer an orphan cowering in the shadow of a man like Leyton.

But while I am far away from his clutches, and from that terrible war, I am not so far from the pain. I realize now that nana picked those memories for a reason. They weren't just loose odds and ends. They were part of her plan.

I bring up my legs and fold one beneath me. The chair feels hard all of a sudden, and I can't seem to get comfortable. I want to close up that box of memories, shove it out of sight. But nana won't let me.

_We have to keep going_, she says. Then she finds another memory and tugs on it gently.

_No. Not that one._ I stuff it back down. It's been five years since that day, the day I finally stopped my Betazoid heart from beating. And I still can't bring myself to think of what it cost.

_We're digging up a grave, remember? We're bound to find a few ghosts._ _But here, let's start with this one…_


	3. Flesh and Blood

**A/N: Thanks for the follows! This is NOT the last chapter. We'll be seeing Riker and Troi soon, and exploring a little bit of Betazed. **

**JWood201-Your reviews are so awesome! As for the AU Beverly, I feel like she wouldn't just settle into her forced new life on Haven One. She is probably leading a rebellion against the corrupt council and just continuing to be a bad ass in every way possible ;-)**

**Ronald40-Good to see you again :-)**

**Jleto-(answering from your review on Borrowed Time) I wasn't planning on it, but I like that idea! In fact, I can make the last chapter of this one cover the first month of Billy's life. Great idea! I'll get right to work! :-)**

* * *

This time I see my father. We are cooking dinner together, and I am standing on a stool to reach the counter...

_He smiles down at me as I struggle to peel a potato. "Why can't we just use the replicator?" I whine. _

"_Because cooking is an art," dad says in that lofty, philosophical tone of his. "And machines aren't artists."_

"_Data is an artist. Haven't you seen his paintings? He even writes poetry! Bad poetry, but still."_

"_He isn't a machine, though." _

"_Is too!"_

"_You need to angle that blade better. Like this…" Dad stands behind me and wraps his hands around mine, nearly engulfing them. Then he guides the knife that I'm holding beneath the skin of the potato. It curls away effortlessly. _

"_Why did you say that about Data?" I ask, craning my neck to look up at him. His hands are still around mine, peeling the rest of the potato. _

"_Say what?" _

"_That he isn't a machine."_

_His eyes soften with fondness for the old android. "Because there's more to being human than flesh and blood."_

_Data is the only one of his kind employed by Starfleet. But recently, we discovered another kind of machine. Machines that have flesh and blood. I shudder to think of the picture I saw in class, and want to nestle into the cocoon formed by my father's arms. _

_He lets go of my hands. I think he felt me shudder, though sometimes I wonder if he can feel my mind the way I can feel his. "What's wrong?" he asks._

"_In class today, we saw a picture of __**them**__."_

_Dad sighs, and I rise and fall with his chest. "You mean the Borg?"_

_I cringe at the sound of their name. The name that creates ripples of fear across our ship. "What are they, dad? Are they people or machines?"_

_The pot on the stove is boiling by now. He looks over, but does nothing about it. A shadow crosses his face. I see that shadow all the time. It hides behind his eyes and behind every smile. It is the shadow of my mother. _

"_No one is sure," he answers. He sounds tired. Defeated. _

"_Well what do __**you**__ think?" I press him a little more because I want to know, and because dad's opinion is the absolute truth. _

_He picks me up off the stool and sets me on the ground. "The water is boiling," he remarks, and turns his attention to the stove. I can feel my question drifting away, out of reach. It is too late to repeat it. I can feel my father drifting away, too. He is just a shadow now, like my mother. We finish dinner in silence._

A lump has formed in my throat. I bring a drink to my lips in an effort to wash it down. "Why did you show me that?" I ask.

"You still struggle with that question," nana says. "Whether they are people or machines."

"You're wrong." Something defensive flares in my chest, and it emboldens my tone. "I know the answer. They're just machines." I take another sip so I can hide behind my glass.

"If your father ever admitted they were just machines, then he would have to admit that his imzadi was gone. But if she was still in there somewhere, then she was suffering greatly. Which would you be willing to accept?"

My fingers clench around the glass. _"They are just machines,"_ I growl. "Mindless drones! Once somebody is assimilated, there is no hope for them."

She nods, but not to agree with me. "You did what you had to do, Bright Eyes. Jacqueline understood that."

Her name sends something through me like a bolt of lightning. I feel her memory coming loose. Nana's shovel is hard at work. "I said not that one!" I yell, and slam my hand down on the table so hard that my palm stings. The silence afterwards stings, too.

But nana does not give up. _Keep digging,_ she says. _We're almost there._ _Show me your ship, the Klingon one. _

I can't help it. I think of those corridors that were always too dark for my human eyes. I think of that awful smell of the exhaust systems. And suddenly, I'm there. I'm returning to my barracks after a morning of bat'leth practice…

_A lock of hair falls over my forehead. Sweat sticks it in place. I take off my armor and let it fall to the floor with a __**clunk**__. There is a new bruise forming along my ribs, and I run my fingers over it gingerly. "Ghuy'cha!" I hiss as pain blooms out from beneath the touch. _

_Then I realize that I am not alone. A girl is sitting on my bunk, watching me. She looks about fifteen or so. My age. At first I am wary of the intrusion. But there is no hint of defiance on her face. Nor is there an apology. She just sits there, hands folded in her lap. Her hair, dark like mine, is cut to the level of her chin. Her eyes are green and tranquil. There is a calmness in their depths that I find myself gaping at unabashedly. _

"_Is there anything to eat around here?" she asks. _

"_What?"_

"_Food. I'm hungry. They didn't feed me before the transfer."_

_She is a new recruit, then. Looks like I'll be sharing my barracks from now on. At least until one of us is killed in battle. _

"_Come with me," I offer, and we walk to the mess hall together. It is full today. Klingons gather around tables of food, snatching handfuls of krada and targ meat. A few tussles break out over the more tantalizing pieces. The girl brightens as she spots a bowl of live gagh. Without another word, she moves forward and grabs some for herself. _

_I sit down across from her, staring in awe. Most of the new recruits find gagh to be revolting. Even some Klingons find the stuff unpalatable. But she wolfs it down without flinching. Then I realize that I do not know her name yet._

"_They call me Qa'Hom," I say as an introduction._

_She shrugs. "That's rude of them."_

_It makes me laugh, because I've forgotten that Qa'Hom isn't exactly a term of endearment. It is the name of a pesky rodent. My crewmates started calling me that to voice their displeasure at having a useless human aboard. Even though they don't seem to mind so much anymore, the name has stuck. "No, no-it's my name," I explain._

_She pauses mid-slurp. There is a twinkle of mischief behind those green eyes. "Your parents must not have loved you very much."_

_I stifle another laugh. "My parents named me Carmen, not Qa'Hom."_

"_Oh. Well my parents named me Jacqueline. Can I ask you something?" _

"_Like what?"_

_She shoves a bunch of worms into her mouth, and they dangle from her grin. "Is there something in my teeth?"_

_I nearly fall off the bench laughing. From then on, we are friends._

_Jacqueline is a fast learner. In no time at all, her Klingon is better than mine. She has a gift for folding pieces of paper and turning them into things like birds and frogs. Unfamiliar versions of familiar things. "What should I make next?" she likes to ask me as we lay awake at night. There is a top bunk and a bottom bunk, but we always curl up together on the same one. We are still cold, but at least we are not cold and lonely. _

_Jacqueline's mother was half Vulcan, I learn. It explains how nothing ever shakes that calmness from her eyes. Not even battle. One time I find her laying face down in a field after an ambush takes most of our party. I am wounded and fatigued, but I drag myself to her side and roll her over. Tufts of grass stick out from the corners of her mouth. "Hey Carmen," she says with a bloody grin. "Is there something in my teeth?" _

_When she finds out that my mother was half Betazoid, she is fascinated. I am sitting cross-legged on the floor one night as she sits on the edge of the bed and braids my hair. "Can you read my mind?" she asks._

"_No. I can feel things, though. At least...I used to." I look down at the floor, but she pulls gently on my hair to make me look straight ahead again. "I'm not done yet, silly. What do you mean you used to?"_

_I blow out a deep breath. "Well...have you ever met another Betazoid?"_

"_No, but I've heard of them. I didn't think there were any left. Not since their homeworld was assimilated."_

_I pull my arms into my tunic. It feels colder all of a sudden._ "_I've never met another one, either."_

"_But why can't you use your powers?" She wraps up the end of the braid in a rubber band and lays it flat against my back. _

"_Because I don't want to. I think it's a good thing there aren't any left."_

_I climb up onto the bed with her. She stares at me hard, trying to understand. "Why's that?"_

"_You know the way your ears hurt after hearing a really loud noise?" She gives me a nod. "Well, it's kind of like that. It's bad enough to live in war, but to have to __**feel **__war…"_

_There is a subtle change deep in those green eyes. I think she understands. "So you don't feel anything anymore?"_

"_I just...try not to listen."_

_She nods again, slowly this time. Then her hand slides under the pillow and she pulls out an old, tattered book. She has been using its pages to make paper animals. "What should I make this time?" she asks, and we are both grateful for the change of subject. _

_The very next day, Jacqueline is assimilated by the Borg._

"Stop. Please." I am leaning over the kitchen table, head in my hands. It's hard to breathe. Nana comes around to my side. She lifts my arm and guides me over to the red cushion by the window. Minutes ago, that cushion offered me such a pleasing view. But the sunlight and the birds and the lake have lost their enchantment. All I see now is that drone holding Jacqueline in the air and her legs going limp.

If only that was the end of the nightmare.

Nana sits down beside me and pulls me into her arms. "Here. Don't try to be strong. I will be with you this time." She guides us back to that Bird-of-Prey. It is one year later. We have three new recruits now, two boys and a girl…

_They are frightened little things. Sickly and skittish. They struggle to speak like our Klingon crew, and can't even pronounce Qa'Hom. They call me Carmen at first, but it only angers me. Dad, Dr. Crusher, Jacqueline...they were the ones to call me Carmen. So I make the children call me Riker instead. _

_I address them by their last names, too. The boys are Peterson and Morrow. The girl is Baker. She is terrified of Klingons, and so she rarely leaves my shadow. I make her sleep on the floor, but whenever I wake, she is snuggled up close. One day, she finds a book under my pillow. "Why do you keep this?" she asks. "You can't even read it. Most of the pages are torn out!" I don't answer her._

_They are too small to be proper soldiers. I know they will not last long. I try not to get attached, yet soon I am saving them tender pieces of targ meat and little candies I find at trading posts. Soon I am teaching them card games and telling them dad's bedtime stories. And soon, we are called back to the battlefield. _

_Their fear pounds against the doors of my Betazoid senses. It is a long battle. Dark descends on that miserable little planet we are defending. I keep a close eye on the children, and against all odds, they make it through the night. Dawn forms a red line in the sky. We have been pushed back to a hillside, and Baker freezes with fear when she catches a glimpse of all the bodies below. She falls behind._

_"Baker!" Morrow screams. I turn to see a drone stalking the child. My stomach drops when I realize that I recognize this drone. I recognize those deep green eyes. It is my friend, Jacqueline. _

_Her hair is gone now and one of her arms has been replaced with a bionic version. A bladed weapon fitted to the end whirls dangerously towards Baker's throat. __I try to call for her, but no sound comes out. A bat'leth hangs from my hand, slick with blood. As Jacqueline closes in, blocking my view of the girl, I know what I have to do. _

_An anguished cry flies from my lungs. The bat'leth flies from my hands at the same time. I can hear the metal singing as it spins end over end. Then, with a sickening thud, it buries itself into Jacqueline's back. She falls silently to the ground. My heart falls just as silently. It begs to die, too._

_I drag her body behind a boulder and stay with her until the battle's end. All three children huddle around us. They don't ask me who she is, but I think they know. I find myself cursing my father aloud. Why didn't he answer me that day in the kitchen? I need to know. I need to know if I killed a person or a machine. Maybe if I could have used my Betazoid blood. Maybe if I could have sensed something there…_

_No. Baker would have been taken, too. I force myself to look at the body, look at the way they desecrated a fifteen year old girl. Anger comes back to me like an old friend. They are machines, I decide. Heartless machines. I must never try to search for a sign otherwise. I must never go without armor._

_So I let it die. My heart. I bury the last piece of my mother, the last piece of my people, right there on the battlefield. And in the following years, I build a sturdy wall to go across the top of that grave. I will become like Leyton. Like the Borg. Just a heartless piece of flesh and blood. That is the only thing that can survive in this universe. _

I feel myself falling apart all over again. But nana is there, holding me together. Her arms cocoon me like my father's once did. At first, I am ashamed of my tears. Then I see that she is crying, too. She is an empath, I remind myself. She knows what it's like, to carry burdens that were never supposed to be hers. And now, she is carrying mine without hesitation.

"You have lost so much," she whispers, parting the hair that has fallen over my face. "It's why you are a collector. Like me."

"A collector?"

"Those rocks of yours...they're a lot like our tragedies," she begins. "They feel heavy at first. But someday, we don't mind carrying that weight. You thought you buried the last piece of Betazed when you buried your gifts. But look in your pockets now. Look at all those beautiful pieces of Betazed."

I slip one of the rocks into my hand. It's the pink and tan one. Even indoors, those little grains of white sparkle back at me. Nana takes it from my palm and examines it thoughtfully.

"Rocks aren't the only things we collect," she says. I look around the kitchen. Colorful bottles line the top of the cabinets. Some have been stuffed with dried plants and flowers. I see baskets and bowls in another corner. Seashells on strings. Errant stacks of books.

"You probably have every collection known to man," I say with a small laugh.

"Oh, those are just things," she says. "People like us...we hold on to things because we know what it's like to be empty-handed. But we also hold onto relationships. That's what you have been doing, you see. Collecting everything you once lost. Your parents. Your ship." She squeezes my hand. "Your humanity."

I have no words. But somehow, I know that it doesn't matter. She understands what I cannot say. And in that moment, my Betazoid blood becomes a gift again. It is no longer a burden. It is a connection, strong enough to go through walls. Strong enough to dig up graves.

All of a sudden, I miss mom and dad tremendously. Yet I know that they are together and happy. Soon, we will all be together and happy. In the meantime, it is just me and nana, and that's the next best thing.

"Nana?" I prompt. She smiles expectantly. "Will you show me some of your other collections?"

"Come with me," she says. And for the rest of the afternoon, even after dusk has fallen over the lake, we talk in spoken and unspoken ways.


	4. A Young Rattlesnake

My parents arrive tomorrow. I will miss the lakehouse, but can't wait to tell mom and dad about everything that happened this week. About all the pranks we pulled on poor Mr. Homn. About the time we tried to make cookies and almost burned the house down. About the special trunk in nana's library and the photograph she let me keep.

My hand runs over the tattered edges of the picture in my pocket. Carefully, I pull it out for another study. A young cadet poses for the camera, his dark hair combed neatly and something gentle, something familiar, shining from his eyes. His smile reaches out to me like a warm hand. This is my grandfather, the one who passed before I was even born. But in a way, I feel like we have already met. Maybe because of mom's memories that I've seen like a movie, where she was the sheriff and he was the outlaw. Maybe because of nana's stories, which she tells so vividly over dinner every night. Maybe because Deanna and Lwaxana were his whole world, and I would do anything to protect them both.

"Carmen?" I hear nana calling my name from somewhere above. I have spent the morning exploring a little beach below the house, and now five more rocks will be added to my collection. I fold up the bottom of my shirt to better carry them all. They scrape against each other with every bounce of my feet as I ascend the winding, wooden staircase two steps at a time.

"Nana! Nana, look at these!" I shout, reaching the top. Excitedly, I kneel down and let the rocks fall out.

She bends down to examine my spoils. "Ooh, I like this one," she says, picking up a turquoise-colored pebble.

"I found that one under a piece of driftwood. It's the same color as your music room!"

She laughs at the comparison. Then I notice that she is wearing one of her poofy dresses, the kind she reserves for special occasions. This one is bright yellow and reminds me of the sun in that I have to squint to look directly at it.

"Why are you wearing that?" I ask. "Aren't we going for our morning walk soon?"

"No time, I'm afraid," she says.

"Why not?"

"Because we have a train to catch! Hurry, go change out of those muddy clothes. We're going to the city!"

* * *

A thin, silver line cuts across the land. It is a rail, nana says. A rail for the train that will take us to Nalara. Trees line up along both sides of the rail like soldiers standing at attention. Trees surround us, too, as we wait on a little platform made of smooth white stones. Nana's shoes clap against these stones as she paces idly back and forth, fanning herself with her hand. It is still morning, but already I can feel my shirt sticking to the sweat on my back.

Nana made me wear something nice today. Instead of my travel attire (shorts and a plain shirt), I am wearing a purple skirt that falls lower on one side than the other. The hem is ruffled in a way that reminds me of the edge of a seashell. My shirt has pink flowers across the top half and short, lacy sleeves. I'm just glad no one from the Enterprise will be seeing me today. I'd never hear the end of it.

I feel strange without my uniform. And without my phaser. Mom made me promise not to pack any weapons, but I feel naked going into a strange city unarmed. _Naked! _With a tinge of horror, I remember how I will soon be naked in front of the entire senior staff. Suddenly, my frilly little outfit doesn't seem so bad.

"Stop fretting, Bright Eyes," nana says. She is standing on the edge of the platform, leaning over to peer down the line. "Betazoid weddings are a beautiful tradition. Not that I expect anyone from Starfleet to appreciate that." She clicks her tongue. "Just look at Jean Luc! Always insisting on silly little formalities when I know how he _really_ feels about me."

A grin cracks through my sullenness to picture Picard stripped of his precious formalities, the only shield between himself and nana's advances. It looks like we will both be unarmed for the wedding. No walls, no weapons, no shields. And no clothes.

"You know, being naked on the outside forces us to be naked in other ways, too. That's what marriage is all about. Being naked up here-" She points to her head. "-and in here-" She points to her heart. "-and, well, everywhere else. Think of it this way: at least you won't have to wear one of those dresses you hate so much!"

I laugh wryly, thinking of all those pink layers of taffeta I had to wear for the Earth wedding. But I wore that dress for mom. I wanted everything to be just right on her special day. While she looked positively radiant, I'd never seen dad look so frazzled. I remember when he stopped by to see how set up was going...

"_You can't threaten somebody over a bunch of tablecloths," he lectures, his hair a mess, his cufflinks undone, and his tie hanging loose around his neck. "Now let him go."_

_I drop the caterer and he crawls away with a whimper. "But these tablecloths are DOVE white and mom asked for PEARL white!" _

_Dad pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply, trying to keep his own frustration at bay. "Okay, I think I'm going to leave Beverly in charge for awhile. Why don't you go finish getting ready?"_

"_But dad, I-"_

"_Right. This. Minute."_

And that's how I got kicked out of the wedding preparations. Still, everything came together just fine. Dad cried. I cried. Nana jumped up and down with joy. And the reception-what a party! Never before had I sensed so much joy in one place. We danced and we laughed and we drank real wine. I wanted to try my hand at other drinks, like vodka and something called Bourbon, but it turns out dad paid the bartenders to ignore my requests. He also made Allan spy on me to make sure I wasn't obtaining alcohol in other, more devious ways.

"_I can't believe you're spying for my dad!" I say right after he confesses. The dance floor hasn't quite emptied out yet, even though the bride and groom left for their honeymoon an hour ago._

"_He's second in command of our ship! I couldn't exactly say no," Allan insists._

"_Well what else did he say? He didn't give you the old speech, did he? The one about how he'll hurt you if you hurt me?"_

_Allan laughs nervously, fidgeting with his tie. "Actually, um...he said that you were perfectly capable of doing that yourself. And then he wished me luck."_

"_Oh. Good. Hey, want to dance?"_

A loud thrumming fills the air, and memories of the wedding fade from view. "Ah! Here we go," nana says, taking my arm. As I wait for the train to appear, I think of mom's favorite cowboy stories. They always seem to start with a train chugging across the dusty, old West. But there are no cinders, no puffs of steam billowing into the sky. This train is sleek and silver, with a big glass dome over the top half. I can see people inside as it pulls up to the platform. Lots of people.

We climb aboard, and as the doors seal shut behind us, I immediately miss nana's lakehouse. Every silent stare falls on me, the blue-eyed Betazoid. Their curiosity probes my thoughts, and dozens of other minds nudge their way into mine. It feels crowded. Crowded on the inside, crowded on the outside. My knees go wobbly. I cling to the handrail, inching along as nana finds us some seats.

Then I see a hand. A man has risen from his seat to help me into mine. "Here you go," he says out loud when I merely stare at his outstretched hand. "That's it. Nice and easy." He guides me down into the seat beside nana, and she flashes him a grateful smile.

The train shoots off like a bullet from a cowboy's gun. Forests fly past the windows. Lake Cataria glitters in the distance, winking at me from between the trees. I miss the solitude of its company, the privacy of its shores. How will I make it in the city, with even more people?

_Don't worry,_ nana says. Her voice rises above the din in my head. _I_ _think you are ready for this. Just remember what we've worked on._

All week, she has been teaching me how to control my abilities. How to keep hold of my own emotions, my own thoughts. But this is too much. It's like everyone's mind is singing a different tune and I can't tell them apart. I can't even find nana's melody among the dissonance.

My heart starts to beat quickly. The sweat on my brow turns cold. I want to get off this train. I want to go back to the lakehouse._ Please_, I beg nana. _Please not today. _

_Have you ever seen a rattlesnake?_ she asks. Her question bewilders me.

_What?_

_They are from Earth's desert. Venomous little creatures. In the olden days, one bite from a rattlesnake and there was a chance you'd die. But that meant there was also a chance you'd live-so long as it was a full grown snake that bit you. See, they believed that a young rattlesnake was far more dangerous._

_Why?_

_Young rattlesnakes were brash and inexperienced. It was said that they didn't know how much venom to release, so they always released too much. Every encounter claimed a victim._

At first, I think she is just trying to distract me. Then I notice her smile. It is one of those smiles that mom gets during our counseling sessions.

_You're speaking in metaphors again, aren't you?_

Her smile turns flippant. More like herself and less like mom. _Maybe._

_But I can't hurt anyone. Can I? _

_You've been hurting yourself_, she answers. _An untrained mind will lash out at any intrusion. You are fighting to close a door that was never meant to be closed. And in the end, it will come back to bite you. _

The train is hurtling us closer and closer to the city. I lean back in my chair, dwelling on nana's words. Graves and walls. Snakes and doors.

I think I understand now.

Then something unexpected happens. The other minds recede from my head to give me space. I marvel at their control. At their mercy. How strange, to be in a crowd of people who can see my naked mind and handle it with care. To be in a crowd of people who are gentle enough not to jostle me. This is Betazed. These are _my_ people.

I can't wait to see the city.


	5. Flying

**I am loving your thoughtful, in-depth reviews! Seriously, you guys are the best. And I am glad to know that this little side adventure has turned out to be more than I was originally planning. Lwaxana is great. Betazed is great. And YOU guys are great! **

* * *

Nalara is a coastal city, with big rolling hills that crowd the Indar Ocean. Its buildings look nothing like the ones in San Francisco, with squares and straight lines everywhere. These ones are round and white and sit high up on spires. Dozens of walkways curve and loop over the lush, green ground. One of these walkways is wider than the others. It runs between two rows of colorful market stalls.

_That's the Prom_, nana says_. Want to take a look?_

I flash her a smile that says yes. She loops her arm through mine and together we pass under a wooden arch. Ornately carved letters spell out "Indar's Promenade." People mill about, picking up jewelry and trinkets from tables in front of each stall. Nobody speaks aloud, but a clamor fills my mind. Someone is rambling about the history of elessi trees. Someone else is trying to convince me that I need a silver necklace. Another is asking me if I want to sample his freshly baked pastries.

I try to focus on my other senses, just like nana taught me. The bottom of my skirt blowing around my knees. The smell of exotic fruits and breads. The sunlight warming my skin. Then something catches my eye. "Nana, look!"

We are standing in front of a stall that sells paintings. The shop owner, a tall and spindly man in a bright red garb, hurries over. "Like that one, do you?" he says. I nod without looking away from those waterfalls streaming down a mossy mountainside. As I stare at the painting, I can almost feel the spray of the falls on my face.

"This is Janaran Falls," I say, softly because I didn't actually mean to say it out loud.

"It is indeed!" The shop owner hooks his thumbs into a big, brown belt. "You have been there?"

"Yes. Well...no. Not exactly. My mother showed it to me."

I think back to the first time I saw the falls. It was right before my trial in San Francisco, when mom and dad were still _counselor_ and _commander. _When my future with the Enterprise was still uncertain. I was in the council's custody and descending into madness. Mom was the only one who could reach me. She took my mind away from that prison cell and to an overgrown jungle. Janaran Falls. A place of refuge. A place of peace. Because of her, I made it through that difficult night. And many more difficult nights since then.

The shop owner smiles. "You should go to the falls. They are even more beautiful in person."

"Can we?" I ask nana.

"Of course we can," she says, and gently pulls me away. "Tomorrow, I think. Right now I want you to meet a friend of mine."

We continue down the row of stalls. At the very end, one of the shop owners waves exuberantly. He is very short and very round. His face has the same rumpled look as his leather boots. His long, bushy hair is streaked with gray and pulled back into a ponytail. "Him?" I ask.

Nana smiles grandly. "Yes, him."

"Your majesty!" he cries, and bows so low that the tips of his wiry eyebrows brush the ground. "You wore that dress for me, didn't you? It's my favorite one!"

"I thought my green dress was your favorite," nana says, coming to a stop in front of his stall.

"Any dress you wear is my favorite. Your beauty transcends them all!" He takes her hand and kisses each of her fingers. "Now then, what can I do for you today, my most radiant angel in all of Betazed?"

Then he spots me. "The deities!" he exclaims, dropping her hand. I fidget in place, unsure of what transgression I must have committed. He advances towards me slowly. "Only a child this beautiful can come from your lineage. Who is this princess? Tell me her name. I_ must_ know her name!"

"This is my granddaughter, Carmen," nana says proudly.

"Obbim Amotar, at your service." Now he bows for me. I stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do or where to look.

"Um...hi."

He beams as though my lame greeting were a poem of love. "There must be men climbing over mountains and sailing over seas just to catch a glimpse of your face! And you visit little old Obbim? Oh, what an honor!" His cheeks are turning rosier and rosier with his fervent adulations.

"Obbim's family has been here since the beginning," nana says. "He can tell you anything you want to know about Betazed."

"Well, um...what about Nalara?" I ask. "Is this city very old?"

"One of the oldest! Have you been to the museum yet?"

"No, not yet," nana interjects. "We're going to stop by later."

"Splendid!" He clasps his hands together in a prayer-like fashion. "Obbim will give the royal tour. But first-a souvenir! What would you like, your highness?"

"Me?" Of course he means me. He is looking right at me. But his offer has taken me by surprise.

"Anything you want!" he gushes. "A ring, perhaps? A pendant?"

Nana is examining a row of necklaces along one wall. "Bright Eyes, you'd be so beautiful in this one!" She lifts up a gold chain adorned with purple jewels. I cringe in horror.

"I...I don't really care for jewelry."

Obbim clicks his tongue rapidly. "Of course, of course. Silly me! A princess needs something better than jewelry. Something like...this."

He reaches up high, wobbling on the tips of his toes. I lift my gaze to a shelf and find two green eyes looking back at me. Deep and tranquil eyes. Jacqueline's eyes. My heart skips a beat.

"Wh-what is that?" I ask.

"A conu bird," he says, lifting the green-eyed bird off the shelf. It is made of colorful paper, just like the ones Jacqueline used to make. Except this one is bigger. Its wings are almost as wide as my arms and it has a long tail made of ribbons.

"What does it do?"

"It flies," he says. Then he winks. "You'll fly, too."

I don't know what to make of his answer, so I simply take the bird and examine it carefully. I can see now that the paper has been stretched over a wooden frame. It feels softer than it looks.

"Why don't you take it down to the beach?" nana says. "Give it a try."

"Right now?"

She smiles, and I know that she sees Jacqueline, too. "Yes. Go have fun. I'll find us some food and meet you there."

* * *

I feel foolish, standing on the beach as I am trying to make this thing work. Obbim had given me no instructions._ It flies_, is all he said. But the wings don't flap and there are no mechanical parts at all. Just some string on a spool.

I toss it up again. Abruptly, it nosedives into the sand. "_Baka_," I grumble, kicking more sand over the top of the bird. I will have to tell Obbim that his paper contraption is defective. As I bend over to pick it up, I notice someone approaching out of the corner of my eye.

A young man stands before me when I straighten back up. He is my age, or nearly so, with wet and sandy hair. He wears nothing but swim shorts and a crooked smile of amusement.

"What do you want?" I demand. Color is rushing to my cheeks, for his amusement is at my expense.

"To help." He holds his hand out. "Here, give me the kite. You need to run."

"Run? Where to?" I stand there confused. He stands there with his hand still out.

"Down by the water; the sand is firmer there."

"But why?"

"Because there isn't enough wind to catch your kite."

I squint at him warily. Obbim said the bird would fly. He didn't say anything about wind or running. "Show me," I say.

He shrugs. "Alright, then you'll have to toss the kite."

"That's what I've been doing!" I hurl out a sigh, impatient with his silly suggestions.

He puts both hands on his waist and bends over laughing. "No, watch." He waves a girl over. She looks younger but is nearly just as tall. Her swimsuit glitters in the sun like bright blue fish scales. "This is my sister, Mara," he says. "Oh, and I forgot-my name is Gabrel."

Mara opens her hands towards the kite, and while I am still skeptical, I pass it over. She gives the spool to Gabrel and he walks towards the water about twenty paces or so. Then he pauses, waiting for a signal from his sister. She is waiting for something, too, but I'm not sure what.

A breeze blows over the edge of a wave, turning the foam into salty mist. Mara grins. This is what she was waiting for. She throws the kite up into that breeze and at the same moment, Gabrel kicks off running. The string snaps taut. My bird lifts into the air, its paper wings rippling under the force. Gabrel's feet make flurries of sand with every stride. I watch in amazement as the kite takes on a life of its own. The tail spins behind it, twisting and whipping in the wind. The head curves side to side. For a moment I think I see a spark in those deep green eyes, but it is probably just a trick of the sun.

Gabrel turns when he reaches the water, and the bird turns with him on its tether. They are both coming towards us now. As he slows to a stop, the magic fades. The bird sinks slowly, gracefully, back down to the ground. It is just a paper thing again.

"Want to try?" Gabrel holds the spool out to me. I take it eagerly, and he jogs off with the kite until the string lays stretched out between us. "Ready?" he asks.

I nod. Already my feet are itching to go. Mara is holding her breath excitedly for the moment when the bird will return to life. We wait, and now I know that we are waiting for another breeze.

It isn't long before I feel the breath of the ocean on my face. Gabrel feels it, too. With a mighty heave, he sends the kite off. "Go, go, go!" he cheers.

I sprint towards the shore, holding the spool tightly in one hand. It jerks back and I can feel the kite pulling into the air. I run faster, drawing up alongside the water where the sand is wet and firm beneath my feet. I run like my legs can go on forever, like the beach has no end. For as long as I am running, those eyes-Jacqueline's eyes-are sparkling with life. Maybe it was a trick of the sun. But maybe not.

Mara and Gabrel are running with me now, one on each side. "Pass it here!" Mara shouts. I hold out the spool and she takes it from my hand without slowing down. Then she laughs like one of those breezes blowing off the ocean. "You'll have to catch me if you want it back!" she taunts.

Gabrel and I grin at each other. It is a race now, to see who can catch her first. Mara pulls out ahead, her long brown hair flying behind her like the tail of the kite. A group of children flock around us, their little arms reaching up towards the bird with squeals of delight. My chest feels full of wind. My eyes feel full of sunshine. My heart feels full of their innocent laughter.

A wave surges up the sand, swirling past our ankles. Gabrel reaches down and swats at the surface, sending a cold spray across my face. Undeterred, I bend over and give the water one swift strike in retaliation. I splash Mara's back instead, and she drops the spool with a shriek of surprise. Gabrel swoops it up. He sticks his tongue out at me and keeps running. But Mara and I are hot on his heels.

We are fast approaching a pier. It stretches out over the water, held up by sturdy columns that stand strong against the crash of the surf. A few families have gathered along its surface to watch the chase, basking in our blissful abandon. I hear them laughing at the children's attempt to keep up. Then I notice that two of the figures look familiar. They are leaning against the railing, waiting for me to recognize them.

My feet come to a stop in the sand. The children zoom past, leaving me standing there in disbelief. Dad waves. Mom giggles at the surprise on my face. _Hello, sweetheart._

"Mom! Dad!" Excitedly, I dart towards a staircase on the side of the pier. The wood is hot beneath my bare feet, but I don't care. I bound up the steps and make a sharp turn, flying straight for mom. She always gets the first hug. I barrel into her and she steps back, bumping into dad. He wraps his arms around us both and squeezes so hard that my feet lift off the ground. I would laugh out of sheer joy if I had enough breath.

Mom prompts my mind gently. She is worried about how I've fared without them. But I leave my mind open for her searching, knowing she will only find things that soothe her concern.

"I thought you weren't supposed to come until tomorrow?" I say once dad lets us go.

He looks pleased with himself. "Yeah well, I thought we'd surprise you."

"Of course you did." Dad is always planning surprises (Lieutenant Worf does not appreciate this well-known fact). "So did you just get here? Have you seen nana yet?"

"Yes, we were just with her," mom answers. "She's in line for sweetened ice."

"Then come down to the water with me! Oh! And Mr. Obbim! You have to meet Mr. Obbim! Come on, come on! I'll show you around-"

"Whoa there," dad says, planting his feet as I try to pull him away. "What about your kite?"

I shrug dismissively. "I can get it later."

"Are you sure? Because it looked like you were having trouble catching that Betazoid boy." He grins, and it sounds like a challenge to me. Mom shakes her head. She knows how this will end.

"I may not be able to outrun him," I say, hands on my hips. "But at least I can outrun _you!_"

"That'll be the day," he scoffs.

"Oh yeah? Watch me!" I take off for the stairs. Just as I reach the top, dad pushes past me in a hurry. Three long-legged strides and he is at the bottom already.

"No, watch_ me_!" he shouts over his shoulder.

"Go, Carmen! Don't let him win!" mom calls. "It will only make him more insufferable!"

Instead of following him down the stairs, I run to the railing and leap over. I land in a crouched position on the sand (which was admittedly not as soft of a landing as I had anticipated). When I look up, I see Mara and Gabrel and a whole herd of children running back towards the pier. "Turn around!" I cry.

Dad charges at them with a roar. The children shriek, tripping over themselves to double back. I try to roll out of dad's way, but he scoops me up instead and flings me over his shoulder. I am giggling too hard to make a protest. In no time at all we have surpassed the children and even Mara. We are closing in on Gabrel now, keeper of the kite.

"Get it!" dad shouts. "For Team Riker!" He veers close to the young man. I reach out, still hanging over dad's shoulder, and snatch the spool from Gabrel's hands. He laughs in defeat and slows to a stop. Mara tackles him into the water, followed by the children. Soon they are splashing at one another with zeal.

It is just me and dad and the conu bird. His strides through the sand are long and powerful. I watch the pier getting smaller and smaller behind us. "Climb up," he says, and throws one of my legs over his back. I swing it around and then clumsily pull myself up until I am sitting on his shoulders, the way I used to when I was little. I am not so little anymore, but dad carries me with the same ease. He holds onto my ankles and I bounce along, laughing as I almost lose my balance again and again. I am dizzyingly high. If I stretch my hand out I might even be able to touch that golden sun. I am flying just like my bird, just like Obbim said I would. I can hear its wings rustle in the wind. I can hear the other beach-goers, too, in the back of my mind. Their thoughts, like different melodies, are no longer a muddle of noise. They are a beautiful symphony, playing together like the surf and the shore. They are the wind under my own wings.

Dad finally slows down. He is panting for breath. "So you...had a...good time?" he asks between huffs. I smile, forgetting that he can't sense my smile the way nana can.

"Yes. A very good time," I reply. "In fact, I think I'll retire here one day."

"Is that so?" He may not be able to sense my smile, but I can sense his. He is reassured by my answer.

The wind is dying down now. I reel my kite in, wrapping the string around the spool until the bird floats within reach. Dad turns us back towards the pier. Up ahead, I see mom and nana carrying bowls of brightly colored ice. Dad's stomach makes a strange gurgling noise. "Maybe all that exercise after a big breakfast wasn't such a good idea…"

"Does that mean I can have your sweetened ice?" I say, half-joking and half-hopeful.

"Not a chance on your life!" He picks up the pace again.


	6. Full

I am last to finish my sweetened ice because I am so busy talking. Not a single thought dies in my throat. All of it reaches mom and dad's ears. By then we have walked to the pier's end and back and all the way up to the Prom. I can see Obbim's stall just ahead. In my excitement, I run forward with the kite.

"It flew! It flew!" I cry. Obbim appears, a smile twinkling from his dark little eyes. He laughs merrily, rubbing his hands together. "You enjoyed it, your highness?"

"I did! And guess what? My parents are here!"

"That's wonderful news!" He steps out into the walkway. Mom rushes right into his arms.

"Obbim! So good to see you again!"

As they embrace each other fondly, Obbim makes a happy sobbing noise. "Deanna! Oh, my Deanna! Let me have a good look at you!"

He puts a knuckle under mom's chin, turning her face this way and that. "You are glowing, my dear. Radiant! Outshining the sun himself! What is the reason for such joy? Is it because you have missed dear old Obbim?" He pulls her in and kisses each of her cheeks twice.

Dad clears his throat loudly. Obbim pauses, peeking his head around Deanna's side. Dad is scowling back at him. The little Betazoid man utters something under his breath, some sort of hushed exclamation. "What….what is this?"

"I'm Deanna's husband," dad growls.

"Is this true, my darling?" He studies dad up and down. "All my life, I've never seen a creature so...so..._magnificent! _Where did you find him? Have you travelled to heaven and back? Surely his eyes inspired the Opal Sea, his hair the dusk! He has been sculpted by the gods themselves! Carmen...where are you, child?"

He reaches out for me without taking his eyes off dad. Finding my shoulder, he grips it tightly. "You are the product of perfection, my dear. The _product _of _perfection!" _

Obbim releases my shoulder and advances towards dad. His gaze is full of awe and wonder. "May I…?" he asks.

"May you what?!" Dad shrinks away from Obbim's outstretched hands. Undeterred, Obbim wraps his fingers around one of dad's biceps and gives it a squeeze. A high-pitched squeal rises in his throat. Dad looks to mom for help, but we are too busy laughing.

"Leave the poor man alone," nana scolds. I think I detect a hint of jealousy somewhere. "We were just on our way to the museum."

"Ah! Good! Give Obbim five minutes, I'll be right with you!" He scampers back into his stall and hurriedly begins to lock things away.

"Wh-what did he mean?" dad stammers.

"Mr. Obbim is going to give us the royal tour!" I say, smiling at him smugly. "Won't that be fun?"

Dad looks a little pale. Mom is still laughing. "Come on," she says, taking dad's hand and tucking it against her side. "Let's go, you magnificent creature!"

* * *

I remember finding the ruins of a house once. It was the closest thing to a museum I had ever stood in. It was a long and low house, with strange flaps on the sides that reminded me of fish gills. A storm blew in, leaving us stranded, and we had to take shelter within those decaying walls for fourteen days.

One side of the roof had caved in, so the wind would howl terribly through those open rafters. We found a crumbling fireplace buried beneath a pile of debris and decided to use it for heat. A fire sprang to life easily, as though happy to have someone warm themselves on its hearth once more.

Food was scarce, but we discovered that those strange flaps collected clean rainwater. I felt like somehow, the house was taking care of us. Perhaps in the hopes that we might stay; that it might not have to be alone anymore.

I don't know who used to live there. I don't know what their names were or what became of them. But I found shadows of their lives in every corner, ghosts of a time before the war. There were books in a language I didn't understand. Trunks of dusty dresses. Plates set at a broken table. An empty crib.

A mantle above the fireplace had begun to rot, but still I could make out beautiful hand-carved flourishes in the wood. My eyes would follow those patterns again and again as I tried to fall asleep. Without a sun, the surface of that planet became a frigid and hostile place. The rain turned to ice and fell from the sky like daggers. Flakes of frost formed on my lips.

By the fifth day, I knew something was wrong. Every thought in my head felt wrapped in fog. When I tried to speak, the words wouldn't come out right. I stopped moving around, stopped eating or drinking. "It is cold," I heard one of the Klingons say. "Humans die in cold like this."

Tirelessly, they kept that fire going. Everything outside was too wet, so they went room by room in search of things that would burn. I mourned as each piece was thrown to the flames. As the crib was broken down into kindling. As the books and all their words turned to ash. As the final remnants of a family's existence crackled in the sacrificial fire.

Eventually, nothing was left. Just four walls and a crumbling roof and a dying fire. That little house gave its all to save our lives. To be a home again one last time.

Now, I am standing inside of a real museum. It reminds me of a church, with its reverent silence and its altars of artifacts. Obbim knows each and every piece of history laying around that place. As he talks, he keeps touching dad on the arm and casting him fawning, furtive smiles. His words weave pictures in my mind, and sometimes, I catch glimpses of a timelessly old soul. Then he smiles at me or laughs (excessively) at one of dad's jokes, and he is just Obbim again.

After the tour, he must return to the Prom. I am sad to see him go. I give him a hug, and he looks up at me with grateful tears in his eyes. Then he pulls me in for a second, longer hug and whispers something in my ear. "It will get dark again, your highness. But that conu bird, she doesn't need the sun to fly. Neither do you."

For a fleeting moment, I sense something profoundly sad behind his eyes. Then, just like that, it is gone. "You will come back someday," he says, patting my cheek. "Remember that. Always remember that."

As we are walking to the train station, dad lets out this heavy sigh. "You know what?" he says. "I like that Obbim fellow."

"You do?" Mom is so surprised that she comes to a stop. Her arm is around his waist, and so she pulls him to a stop as well.

"Yeah." Dad's chest puffs out. "He's got good taste."

* * *

We are on the train now, back to nana's lakehouse. I rest my head on mom's shoulder. Her mind is not loud, like nana's. It is a gentle place. A refuge for me, just like Janaran Falls. I draw in a deep and contented breath. Mom's hair still smells like the ocean. It brings me peaceful, drowsy thoughts. Soon I am drifting off.

The movement of mom's shoulder wakes me. She runs a hand over her belly and looks out the window, trying to distract herself. Something is tugging on her mind, but she is keeping it hidden.

I sit up in my seat. _Mom? Are you feeling alright?_

"Hmm?" she says, startled to find me awake. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice dad look up from his conversation with nana. They have been sitting across from us, and when I fell asleep nana was asking him about Picard's travel plans.

"Are you feeling alright?" I repeat, aloud this time. Dad shifts in his seat as he pretends to be listening to nana. But my question has made him uneasy.

"Too much sweetened ice, that's all," mom says, and rubs my arm.

But that's not all. I can sense it. _Is it the blackweed? Has it come back?_

Our last away mission was two months ago. She was poisoned. Dad was stabbed. I was beaten senseless by a member of the Tal Shiar. It wasn't exactly a family vacation. While Dr. Crusher managed to remove the blackweed from mom's system, its effects lingered for weeks.

_No, no. I'm fine, Carmen. Really. _

Mom is telling the truth this time. Both of our gazes return to the window. Dad settles back in his seat. I will have to tell nana later. _She _can get to the bottom of things.

* * *

That evening, Mr. Homn sets the table with enough food for an army. There is barely enough room for our plates. I eat until I am sweating, and then of course, have three rounds of dessert to top it all off.

We all take our evening walk together. The lake is calm tonight. I show dad that I remember how to skip stones across the water, something he taught me in Alaska. We have a contest, and my rock flies farther than his three times out of five. But, just this once, I think he let me win.

Mom says she is tired and we have to turn around early. Nana takes her up the stairs and I stay behind, watching her worriedly. "Dad?" I whisper, pulling on his hand. "What's wrong with mom?"

His mind starts to fidget. He is anxious about something. Mom and nana are halfway up the stairs by now. Neither of them look back for us. "Let's...let's keep walking," he says, and drapes an arm across my shoulders.

I fall into line at his side, casting one final glance at the house. Mom and nana have disappeared inside. The sky, a heavy purple, is dappled with silver stars. The lake is purple, too. Little waves make the stars dance across its surface.

"I had fun today," he finally says. "We should do stuff like that more often."

"You mean flying my kite?"

"I mean...normal things. Kites. Frisbee. Baseball."

"What's frisbee?"

He pauses dramatically. "You've never-? I'm sorry, Carmen. So sorry. Somewhere along the line, I...I have failed you."

Giggling, I give him a playful shove. "Yeah, right."

He laughs, too. But only for a moment. Then his mind is restless again. "Really," he says, serious this time. "We should do stuff like this more often. We...have a lot of time to make up for."

I dig my feet into the sand. "Why are you talking like that?" I ask.

"Like what?"

"Like...like things are about to change. Why won't you tell me what's wrong with mom?"

He shakes his head. "Deanna warned me about this. She said your abilities would be sharper. She said you might be able to sense it…"

I fold my arms across my chest. "You didn't answer my question."

He folds his arms, too. "Yes, Carmen. Things are about to change. I just...I wanted to talk to you first. I had all these things I wanted to say, things that we haven't said before."

"Like what?"

"Like...how happy I am that you decided to call me dad." My arms fall. My guard falls with it. He continues. "You're the one who changed my mind, about wanting to _be_ a dad. The truth is, when we first found you, I told Deanna not to get attached. I thought we'd just hand you off to the council and that would be the end of it. But I'm glad things didn't go according to plan. I'm just...I'm happy that you call me dad."

He is building up to something. It ties my stomach up in knots. "You're leaving, aren't you?" I accuse him, trying to hold the tears at bay. "You've leaving the Enterprise?"

"Leaving? No, no! Nothing like that!" He takes me by the shoulders as if to keep me from falling apart.

"Then why did you say this is all about to change?"

He laughs wryly. "Because your mother is...what I'm trying to tell you is..."

A scream pierces the air. It came from the house above, from nana. I spin around, breaking dad's grip on my shoulders. But within moments, I realize that the scream was a happy one, a sound of complete and utter joy. I forget all about what dad was saying and stand there, stupefied. What could make nana so excited?

"Looks like your grandmother found out," dad says. I turn back towards him.

"Huh? Dad, what's going on? What were you about to say?"

He grins. "Deanna...she's expecting."

His grin widens. He is waiting for a reaction. But I am waiting for him to finish his sentence. "Expecting _what?_"

"Your baby brother or sister!"

The revelation hits me so hard that it knocks me off balance. I stagger back a step, right into the water. My foot slips against a rock and I fall flat on my bottom. Too stunned to get up, I just sit there, sopping wet, while the glorious news sinks in.

Dad wades into the water and hoists me to my feet, laughing all the while. "You alright?" he asks.

"Are you kidding me? I'm-this is-I can't believe it!" I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around him as tight as I can. Happiness fills me up inside until it flows from my eyes. I am crying and crying and can't explain why.

A year ago, I had no family at all. Just walls and graves. Now I have a mom and a dad. A nana who understands me. A ship to call my own. A planet to call home. Those graves are empty, and my heart...

My heart is full.

* * *

**One more chapter to go! Thanks for reading! **


	7. To Boldly Go

**Here it is, the last chapter of The Collector! I'll be returning to Borrowed Time after this. I've been training hard again at my gym, now that my concussion is well past, so sorry that this update took a little longer than normal. We had a UFC fighter training with us last week! His name is Austin Arnett, and if you want to see what I was up against, you can see his recent fight in Argentina on Youtube. If you type in "Humberto Bandenay VS Austin Arnett UFC 2018" there's a great highlights video that only shows the good parts. **

**Anyway, I hope this is a good conclusion to Carmen's Betazed adventure. Your reviews have been such a joy to read. Jleto-that's awesome that you've been going back to my first story! Thank you so much for following along all this time, and for your thoughtful reviews! **

**And JWood201, you're the one who gave me the idea for even writing about Carmen's visit, so thank-you for the inspiration! And for each and every one of your reviews! I'm looking forward to reading more of your own Betazed adventures, whenever you get the chance. Even if they always make me cry haha.**

**Zara08-YOU GOT TO MEET HIM! Omg that's amazing! I'm so jealous! I had a dream once that I got to meet him, and I told him I was writing a fanfic, and then later he called me just to tell me how awful it was. I was CRUSHED for like a whole day, even though it was just a dream hahaha.**

* * *

Two of the three moons have risen over Lake Cataria. It is almost dark enough to see all the stars now. Nana's lakehouse, perched high up on the hill, rests in their glow. I breathe in deeply, letting the evening fill my lungs. It feels as though I have never left. So much has changed aboard the Enterprise in the last seven months, and yet these muddy shores remain the same. I remember now, how it sounds when the lakewater sloshes at my feet. How it smells, when those pine needles have been in the sun all day. How it feels, to be home again.

Troubling news has been rumbling along the Romulan front. Dad keeps telling me that everything will be alright, that the war from my childhood, the war that took my first father, will not reach this place. _"We'll make sure that it won't,"_ he swore to me. I close my eyes, lingering on his promise. Then a breeze blows right through my shirt, making me shiver.

A second breeze, this one gentler, plays with the curls beside my little brother's cheek. Dark curls, like our mother's. But his eyes are blue and bright, like our father's. Stars fill their depths as his gaze wanders across the Betazed night. "You like those stars?" I ask, cradling him against my chest. "We'll be among them soon. They keep us company wherever we go. Captain Picard said they're reminders-reminders that we're never alone. You'll meet him in a few weeks. He's kind of stern, but you won't find a more compassionate captain in all of Starfleet."

His eyes find my face, and he coos at me happily. Billy likes it when people talk to him. Smiling, I rest my finger in his palm. His little hand wraps around it tightly. It is just an instinct, mom says. We are born with an instinct to hold the hands that reach out to us. An instinct to trust. We are not born afraid of one another; that kind of prejudice is taught.

Billy is only two weeks old, but already I can sense that he is just like mom. Nana says so, too. He has the same soft spirit behind those bright blue eyes. "You'll be one of those sensitive kids, won't you?" I say, and he coos again as if to agree with me. "Well, if you have any Reynold Clancy's in your class-anyone foolish enough to pick on you-just tell them you have a big sister who was trained by Klingons."

It is difficult to picture my baby brother in school. He looks so small right now, especially in dad's hands. I was afraid to hold him at first, afraid that I wouldn't know how to be gentle enough. Now I don't want to put him down.

It amazes me, how he knew our mother right away. Dr. Crusher said that babies learn their mother's voice while they are in the womb. I still remember how, when he was placed on mom's chest for the first time, the familiar soundtrack of her heartbeat soothed his cries. Dr. Crusher wiped him down as mom spoke gently into his mind, running her fingers through his damp hair. Dad grabbed me in a hug and kept kissing the top of my head. We were both emotional wrecks the night Billy was born. Not mom, though. She was strong.

The pregnancy-now_ that_ was a completely different story. Gone was the self-assured counselor, the queen of composure. In her place was some terrifyingly irrational creature with a craving for salty foods. I stopped by Dr. Crusher's office at least once a day with my concerns. "Deanna is pregnant," she reminded me often. "Pregnant women are some of the most terrifying and irrational creatures in the universe! Just be patient. She'll be back."

I'll never forget the time dad forgot how much she hates garbi fish. He was whistling to himself in the kitchen as he rubbed a blend of spices over pink little fillets. I was practicing my trombone nearby. Mom picked up a fish off the counter that hadn't been scaled yet and stared at it woefully.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Garbi fish?" she said, choking on tears. "You're making...garbi fish?" You could see the color draining from dad's face as he realized his fatal mistake.

I lowered my trombone. "We could make you something else!" I offered, a hasty plea on his behalf.

"Y-yes," dad gulped. "We could make-"

"How _could_ you?" she suddenly roared, flinging the poor little thing to the wall with such force that it exploded upon impact. Bits of fish guts made wet-sounding plops as they landed on the floor. Mom seethed in our stunned silence, every breath rasping in her throat like a growl. It was the first time I ever heard her growl.

Dad didn't dare move a muscle. "H-how about a chocolate sundae?" he simpered, his voice trembling as bad as his knees.

After a moment of stone-cold contemplation, mom rolled her shoulders back, satisfied with his plea. "With extra whipped cream," she demanded. "And croutons."

"Croutons?" I repeated. "Don't those go on top of salad-" Dad hurriedly clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Coming right up, my imzadi!" He backed away, dragging me with him. "_Just do as she says_," he whispered into my ear. "_And nobody gets hurt_."

Billy brought our mother back. The day he joined our family, she returned. Everything felt wonderfully normal again. New and strange, yet somehow normal. Like it was always supposed to be like this.

I feel his hand squeeze my finger as if he heard my grateful thoughts. I smile at him anew. It has become our tradition, to come down to the lake so mom and dad can rest up for another long night. Nana stays awake with them, doting on Billy whenever she can, while Mr. Homn makes sure nobody goes hungry. But evenings are just for us. I have been using the time to get my little brother acquainted with Klingon history.

"Now then," I say, bouncing him gently against my shoulder the way mom taught me. "Where did we leave Kahless the Unforgettable? Ah, yes. I believe he was in the Great Hall at Qam Chee." Above, more stars have crowded the sky. They all seem to be listening to my story. "Five hundred of Molor's best warriors were knocking at the gates-five hundred! The garrison had already fled. Only Lukara stood by his side, his faithful mate. They fought those warriors one by one until the Great Hall filled with the blood of their enemies. Then, victorious, they-" I pause. "-uh, they celebrated. And thus, the greatest love story of all time began. Second greatest, actually. Next to mom and dad."

One of these nights, I will tell him their story, too. We left them in nana's front room, the room with the best view of the lake. They had tried to stay awake to watch the sunset together. When I came in for Billy, Mom was snoring from under dad's arm, her face half-buried in his side. Dad's legs were sprawled out before them in a sea of dinner dishes and burp rags. Not the most romantic of scenes, but beautiful in its own way. For I can feel their joy underneath all those sleepless nights, all the piles of dirty diapers and dirty laundry. There is a reason for their exhaustion. A reason that goes above any work they do on the Enterprise.

A light comes on. I look up at the softly glowing window. It is nana's library. I can hear mom's thoughts behind the window like an old, favorite song. Billy babbles back at me. He is so excited that little bubbles of spit form in the corners of his mouth. "You know who it is, too, don't you?" I laugh. He knows our mother's voice, after all.

* * *

The library door is slightly ajar. I push it open the rest of the way and find mom sitting in front of a big, wooden trunk. Her hair falls in wild curls around her shoulders. Her cheeks look warm and rosy as she greets me with a smile. "Come on in," she beckons. "Have a seat with me."

Billy makes happy gurgling sounds from within his blanket. I push it back so that he can see mom's face, and they both light up at the sight of each other. "Hey there, cowboy," mom croons, gathering him into her arms. I sit down cross-legged beside them, peering into the trunk.

At first, none of the contents look related. A pocket knife. A cowboy hat. A tattered notebook. Then I see a uniform folded neatly, lovingly, on top of the pile. It is red and gold, an outdated Starfleet issue, and has the markings of a lieutenant commander.

"Grandpa?" I inquire.

Mom nods. She picks up the cowboy hat and puts it on my head. "These were some of his things. We used to play Sheriff and Outlaw together, back when this hat barely fit me. It was always falling over my eyes." I tilt the wide brim back so I can see her better. It is made of soft, brown felt. Then she picks up a gold star and pins it to the front of my shirt. "There you go, Sheriff."

I laugh. "But that means you're the outlaw!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You'd say things like, 'I'm robbing this bank please,' and then talk all your victims through their feelings."

She wrinkles her nose in a scowl, but soon her laughter joins mine. I take off the star and pin it to Billy's blanket instead. "There. He'll make a fine sheriff one day."

"He'll chase his big sister all over the ship," she says, and her smile grows. One of her hands reaches out to stroke the side of my cheek. "Thank-you, by the way. For letting us get some sleep."

I shrug my shoulders. "Billy likes the lake."

"He likes his big sister, too." Mom lifts him higher into the crook of her elbow. A yawn turns his whole face red and it makes us laugh. Then he starts to mouth on his pudgy little fist.

"He's hungry?" I ask, still learning how to read all his signs.

Mom beams at me proudly. "That's right! It's called rooting, when they do that." Even though Billy is her first baby, nurturing comes so easily to her. She innately knows what he needs and when. She knows all the terms, all the parameters, all the scientific explanations. It's a lot of work, to care for a baby.

Then I realize that_ I_ have been a lot of work, too. There were no parameters for our situation, but still she seemed to know what I needed and when. She was the first one to reach out to me, the first one to climb over those walls I built during the war. Even when I pushed her away-even when_ dad_ pushed her away-she was always there, waiting for us to come home again. I look down at Billy, who has begun to nurse. No, I tell myself. This is the easy part.

My attention returns to the trunk. I pick up the pocketknife and run my fingers over three initials on its side._ I. A. T. _"You would have loved him," mom says wistfully. "And he would have adored you and Billy."

"I never realized how much you look like him," I say. "Nana gave me a picture last time we were here."

"I know." Mom smiles. "I saw you showing it to your little brother the night he was born."

"You did?" My cheeks grow warm. I thought mom was asleep when I showed Billy that photograph of our grandfather. I had been thinking about what Dr. Crusher said, about how babies learn the voices of their family. He would never know Grandpa Ian's voice, and so I wanted to make sure he knew his face at least.

The cowboy hat is still on my head, I realize. I take it off and place it gently inside the trunk. "Keep it," mom says. There is a lump in her throat as she speaks, yet when I look over at her, the smile is still there. "He may be gone, but there are more days of Sheriff and Outlaw ahead of us."

I rub the soft, brown felt of the hat between my fingers. Then, with a grin, I put it back on my head. War or no war, I believe in a future somewhere out there. "This cowboy's story is just beginning," I say, nodding towards my little brother. "And he will boldly go where no cowboy's gone before!"


End file.
